


Winner Takes It All

by Corycides



Series: Miles Matheson Appreciation Week [6]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a special kind of hell, being Best Man as your brother marries the woman you love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winner Takes It All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttercups3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/gifts).



Miles didn’t know what the fuck he’d done wrong in his life, but as punishment God had found a special hell just for him. Best Man at his brother’s wedding to the woman Miles wanted, and had been fucking up until last night. He stood there at the altar, sweating sourly into the rented tux, and hated himself and his brother and even Rachel a little bit.

Drunk was the only way he could get through the day - from vodka in his hip flask (couldn’t smell it on your breath, and he had enough of a tolerance than it only took the edge off) to whiskey straight in the evening. It didn’t make him feel any better; it just made him care less about his misery.

By eight he was drunk enough that Rachel came over, rustling and so fucking beautiful in her poufy, marshmallow dress, to tell him to go to bed.

‘Don’t make a scene, Miles,’ she said, glossy pink lips not cracking their perfect smile. ‘Just...it was a mistake. I love Ben.’

‘Ben’s safe,’ Miles said. ‘You love me.’

He didn’t even believe it - who would? - but the contempt on Rachel’s face still stung.

‘I never loved you,’ she said, enunciating the words clearly. ‘It was sex. That’s all, and now it’s over. Go to bed, Miles, and grow up.’

She turned and walked away, straight into Ben’s arms.

Fuck it. Miles took the bottle and went to bed. He kicked his pants off - he didn’t wanna have to pay to have them cleaned - and sprawled on the posh duvet in the jacket and stiff-necked shirt. One hand wrapped around his cock, calluses a familiar scrape against the tender skin.

‘Sit on your hand till it goes numb,’ Bass had told him once. ‘It’s like being jerked off by a stranger.’

Except he didn’t want a stranger. He could have fucked one of the bridesmaids - the one with the tattoos sweating out from under her concealer - if he did.

Rachel had hot, impatient hands and hangnails. Her engagement ring cold against his balls as she got him hard. Blonde hair tickling his thighs and her lips wet and hot as she sucked him off, leaving that prissy, pink gloss all over his cock.

He swallowed, mouth sticky, liquor-dry, and leant his head back into the pillows. His thumb scraped over the head of his cock, smearing pre-come down the shaft, and his breath caught raggedly against his teeth. It hadn’t been meant to hurt like this. Rachel’d just been a girl, another girl, who pissed Ben off, this time because they worked together. They’d fucked against the door in her dorm-room, Rachel muffling giggles against his shoulder when someone had hammered the wall and screamed ‘Shut the fuck up, shut up about fucking, fuck up!’.

‘No,’ he’d yelled back, and she’d laughed so hard he felt the vibrations in his balls.

She’d been fun. A sweet memory to jack off to when he was away, balls itching with sand and sweat and Bass snoring face down on his cot.

Then he came back home and there she was: eating toast at breakfast with Ben, holding Ben’s hand, fucking Ben. It had...fuck, if you couldn’t be honest with your cock in your hand when could you?...it had made him want her. Just to prove he could take her.

Pleasure itched down Miles’ thighs, clenching the long, hard muscles. He pumped his hand harder, thrusting his hips up against his fist.

He had taken her: on the beach, her ass gone sunglow pink and sandy (‘How am I going to explain this to Ben?’ she’d said, while he kissed his way up between her thighs.); in the stairwell outside Ben’s flat (her lower lip red and swollen for days she’d bit it so hard to keep from screaming) and last night at her practice dinner, in the ladies toilets with her shiny, matchy heels digging into his ass as she wrapped her legs around him.

Fuck. That. That worked.

Miles fucked his hand to the memory of cold, slippery satin and Rachel swearing at him as her body clenched, wet, hot and silk, around his cock. The hard-fucked look of her - her hair, her flushed face, the bite on her throat - as they’d finished and he’d let her slide back down to her feet.

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ she told him.

It did. It meant she’d sat next to Ben through dessert, with Miles come sticky on her leg.

He swore, guttural and ragged, and want cramped from his ass all the way down to his knees. His fingers tightened around his cock and he brought himself off with hard, impatient thrusts, splattering come all over his thighs and stomach.

Fuck. He grabbed the duvet and swiped at the stain, smearing it messily. Fuck. Fine, he didn’t care anymore. He sprawled out, letting the mess dry on him, and felt wrung out and too fucking sober for the amount he’d drunk.

It didn’t matter how many times he’d fucked Rachel, because right now she was somewhere in the hotel fucking Ben.

He’d won, and the bastard hadn’t even known it was a competition.

 

 


End file.
